


Yesterday is History

by cleo4u2



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Bruce/Tony if you squint, Bucky escapes Red Room, Comicbook!Clint Barton, Emogis, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sam and Natasha are bros, Steve writes a book, Texting, Top!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2
Summary: Steve was just so damn sick of having his best friend/love being a footnote in history that he decided to write a book about him. Some see it as survivors guilt or him giving Bucky credit while others see it as the greatest love story ever written. The Winter Soldier sees it as a biography.  Original Prompt thanks to the Mini Muse





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title frim quote, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift of God, which is why we call it the present.” by Bil Keane
> 
> Beta'd by the amazing and wonderful [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile)

Cape Times  
10 March 2015

  
The Greatest Love Story we Never Knew  
Steven G. Rogers  
Eternity Press  
**REVIEW:** Emmet Wainsworth

 _Steve Rogers, more commonly known as Captain America, dedicated his book,_ More Than a Footnote: the life of James Buchanan Barnes, _to the subject himself. Ostensibly, the book is the biography of Captain America’s best friend and fellow Howling Commando, who gave his life in service to his country during World War II. What it really is, is a love letter from one soldier, to another..._

* * *

 

**The Times**

  
More Than a Footnote: the life of James Buchanan Barnes  
Martha O’Reily March 10th, 2015

_...What does this say about our nation’s greatest super hero? It is clear that he is suffering from survivor's guilt. “Writing this book was an unexpected journey,” Rogers writes in his forward. “Along the way, I found I need to forgive myself for smiling, laughing, and living without my best friend at my side.” Survivor’s guilt is common in those returning from war, but to still be suffering from it years after returning home? Concerning for a man who regularly holds the lives of others in his hands._

* * *

 

**The Tribune**

  
Howling Commando Posthumously Awarded Medal of Honor

_...his skill and courageous devotion to duty in the face of seemingly impossible odds,” said the spokesperson for the White House. Most people consider this honor to be far overdue. It’s thanks to the writing of Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, in his book More Than a Footnote: the life of James Buchanan Barnes that convinced the President to award Sgt. Barnes the Medal of Honor._

_When asked to comment, Captain America said, “All the Commandos deserved a medal for their dedication and service. I’m just glad to see some recognition for what they did.”_

_There is still no word if Rogers will be writing more books on the other Howling Commandos._

* * *

 

 **SpiderQueen** : have u seen the reviews? ^w^

 **SGR** : I didn't write it for reviews, Nat.

 **SGR** : If they're bad, I don't want to know.

 **SpiderQueen** : u made the times bestseller list

 **SGR** : And what the hell is that face?

 **SGR** : Wait, seriously?

 **SpiderQueen** : lol yes they luv u bb *\o/*

 **SGR** : Are you home? I'm calling Sam. We should celebrate.

 **SpiderQueen** : tell tony or he will bitch @ us for days ._.,,,

 **SGR** : Hang on, he must have heard the news. He's calling now.

* * *

 

The Winter Soldier escaped from the Red Room in the sixties. All he knew was they had hurt him, used him, and he would allow it no longer. He had wandered for a time, taking jobs their training made him good for. He hadn’t had a name then, wouldn’t remember anything for years of the past they had taken from him. Not until he had taken a job in New York City. The job itself hadn’t been unique, a hit offered by one criminal organization on the boss of another. He had taken it because that was all he knew, murder and death and blood.

But the city changed that.

For the first time in his memory, he had failed a job. The target was meeting with his subordinates in a restaurant in the borough of Brooklyn. The plan was to set up across the street, fire a single bullet, then fade into the city’s bustling background noise.

The second he got off the subway, he had known this was home.

Which wasn’t possible. The Winter Soldier did not have a home.

Yet there it was, the inescapable sensation that he had _been here_. That he had _lived here_. That he could find his way through these streets with ease. He had wandered for hours, until well after the target had left the restaurant, chasing that feeling. Chasing ghosts of a past the Red Room had locked away in his mind.

That night, after slipping into the target’s house and slitting his throat, he dreamed of a shock of blond hair and pale skin, a hand clamping onto his shoulder and a man saying, “Bucky! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

‘Bucky’ made Brooklyn home the next morning.

The memories were scarce, but he cherished them like a drowning man needs oxygen: a woman shouting, “James, you come inside this instant!”. A little girl with his eyes, giggling as he handed her an ice cream cone. Dark dance halls with beautiful women; dancing ‘til dawn. Slipping his arm around bony shoulders and pulling them against his side. Familiar memories of a man who had been pulled apart and made into a weapon.

A man who had worked with his hands. So Bucky became a mechanic, and put his weapons away.

A man who had loved to dance, so Bucky went out every Friday and Saturday night to dance halls and, later, clubs.

A man constantly looking for a shock of blond hair, bony shoulders, and eyes bluer than the sky on a sunny day. Looking for Stevie.

Decades passed and Bucky was still looking for a man he barely remembered.

Mostly Bucky kept to himself. It was too hard to explain how he didn’t age, how he didn’t have any history to speak of. He ran his shop, he paid his bills, and he changed his identity every twenty years. Free time was spent watching movies, or reading books. He hated television, appreciated the Internet, but preferred to use it only for business. He also liked playing video games occasionally. Especially Japanese RPGs, when ‘occasionally’ turned into ‘sinking over a hundred hours into a play-through’.

Life would have continued that way, simple and lonely, not that Bucky minded, for another sixty years if he hadn’t walked into his favorite bookstore and seen his own face looking back at him from a display.

* * *

 

 **SGR:** Sam, do you think I should write another book?

 **WingMan:** Are those reporters still calling you about that?

 **SGR:** They call the PR department. No, my publisher called. He said there’s a lot of interest in having me write biographies for the other Commandos. Especially for Gabe and Jim. What do you think?

 **WingMan:** You had pretty specific reasons for writing about Barnes

 **WingMan:** Do you even watn to keep writing?

 **SGR:** It was fun, but I’m really not sure. I didn’t know the other Commandos their whole lives. They didn’t die before I went into the ice, the way Bucky did. I hate that they’ve been relegated to another one of my footnotes, especially Jim and Gabe, but that doesn’t mean I’m the best equipped to write about them.

 **WingMan:** But you are. Youre their co. So what you didnt know them later in life? Thats what interviews are for. You can meet their families the way you keep saying you wanna

 **SGR:** That’s true.

 **WingMan:** =)

 **SGR:** It’s still not cuter than when Nat sends them.

 **WingMan:** Aw man…

* * *

 

Steve woke to heavy pressure on his chest and something cold digging into his temple. When he shifted, he found the weight was on his forearms as well, bearing down on them. Pinning him to the bed.

Coming fully awake at the realization that he was _being pinned to the bed_ , Steve opened his eyes to his dark bedroom. Only streetlight filtered through the window, illuminating the man hunched over him, knees digging in between the bones of his arms, as nothing more than a shadow with long hair. Cold wriggled through his stomach as Steve realized the thing digging into his temple was the muzzle of a gun. So much for his expensive security system.

Flexing his arms, Steve froze as the stranger drilled the firearm into his temple.

“None of that, now,” the man said, his voice low and rasping in that way that always made Steve’s toes curl. Not that they curled now, even if the guy was in his bed. Having a gun pulled on him just didn’t put him in the mood.

“Am I going to have to replace my security, or just upgrade?” Steve asked, keeping his voice calm and friendly.

The pressure against Steve’s temple lessened considerably.

“Replace. I’d offer to do it myself, but I’m sure we have trust issues.”

Steve found himself laughing, shaking under the stranger’s bulk. There was something familiar about the man’s voice, but he couldn’t quite place it. A name on the tip of his tongue his mind just wouldn’t cough up.

“Just a few,” he agreed. “I assume you know who I am, so who are you?”

The shadow’s head tilted to the side.

“They called me the Winter Soldier.”

“That isn’t a name,” Steve pointed out, trying to stay relaxed and not doing a very good job of it. That gun, again.

“No,” the stranger agreed.

“Who is ‘they’?” Steve asked instead of pressing for a real name. It wasn’t as though he had the upper hand in this particular situation.

“I’m not here to talk about the Red Room,” the Winter Soldier growled, his gun pressing painfully into his temple again.

“Okay,” Steve said slowly, head tilting to relieve some pressure against his skull, “Then what are you here to talk about? I’m assuming you’re not here to kill me, or you’d have done that already.”

“You assume correct,” the Winter Soldier said, calm, just offering a fact. “Tell me about James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Bucky?” Steve repeated, shocked and surprised. The Winter Soldier twitched at the nickname, but the gun pulled away a fraction instead of digging in again. “Everything’s in the book; why do you need to know about Bucky?”

“Why is irrelevant,” the Winter Soldier said coldly. “You will tell me about him. Everything I ask. You will not lie, or I will kill you, and I will know if you’re lying. Do you understand?”

“I,” Steve licked his lips and nodded, “Okay. Don’t see why not.”

“How do you know he died?”

The question was like a slap to the face.

“What?” Steve blurted. “I was there. I saw… I saw him fall.”

“How do you know?” the Soldier repeated, agitated by Steve’s answer. “Did you find his body? Did you see his corpse?”

“N-no,” Steve said, feeling the old ache that he hadn’t gone back to give Bucky a proper burial, “The... The canyon was too steep. We couldn’t go back for him and there was no telling what part he fell into, but I… I didn’t need a body to know. No one could have survived that fall.”

Steve closed his eyes, hearing Bucky’s scream echo in his mind.

“I would have gone back for his body,” he whispered, “I’d put in my leave request, but then the plane went down and…”

“Did you love him?” the Soldier interrupted.

The segue startled Steve all over again, his eyes shooting open to stare up at the Soldier. Who the hell was he and why did he need to know these things? Steve couldn’t see a purpose, a rhyme or reason to the questions. And where had he heard that voice?

“Of course I did,” Steve said.

The Soldier froze for a heartbeat before the muzzle traced down Steve’s cheek, along his jaw. Like a twisted, violent caress. Once again, Steve’s insides ran cold, but the gun stopped beneath his chin and he felt he could breathe again. Which didn't make a lot of sense, considering he still had a gun pressed to his head.

What the hell was going on?

“Were you _in_ love with him?”

Steve swallowed, his own voice dropping dangerously low as he answered, “That is none of your goddamn business.”

Though he hadn’t answered the question, the Winter Soldier didn’t react. Didn’t shoot Steve, or hurt him in any way. He just went on with his questions, leaning forward so his hair tickled Steve’s cheek.

“Was he in love with you?”

“You’d have to ask him,” Steve snapped. “Tell me what this is about!”

The Winter Soldier leaned forward, long hair now brushing Steve’s cheek, his forehead, his nose. The muzzle of the gun pressed harder under his chin, and then the bedside lamp snapped on. Above him, face intent and fierce, was Bucky’s. Oh, it wasn’t exactly the same face, there were crow’s feet at his eyes, he was in bad need of a shave, and his hair was girlishly long, but it was him. Steve would have known him anywhere.

It was _Bucky_.

“Were you in love with him?” Bucky asked again.

“Bucky?” Steve whispered.

“Was he in love with you?”

Jerking his arms free of Bucky’s knees, Steve ignored the gun being jammed hard enough under his chin to bruise. Slowly, not wanting to spook the phantom in his bed, Steve lifted one hand to Bucky’s waist, the other to his face. Ever so gently, noticing how Bucky’s breath caught in his throat, Steve pushed his hair from his eyes. The lamp light shone in his dark blue eyes, lighting up the flecks of gold and steel.

He would know those eyes anywhere. How many times had he drawn them? How many times had he committed them to memory during the war, vowing to learn to paint them when they got home? How many times had he pictured those eyes, wondering if he remembered them right?

He hadn’t; there was more steel than gold.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered again, hushed and in awe of this miracle. This…

“ _They called me the Winter Soldier._ ”

They.

The Red Room.

“ _How do you know he died?_ ”

“Oh, god, Bucky,” Steve gasped, feeling his throat tighten. “How… How are you here?”

“Were you in love with him?” Bucky asked, his inflection identical to the last. “Was he in love with you?”

“You’d know that better ‘n me,” Steve whispered, unable to speak any louder.

Bucky took a breath, finally pulling the gun from beneath Steve’s chin. He didn’t let go of it, though, didn’t move from his position above Steve. Carefully, he leaned into Steve’s hand on the side of his face. Smiling weakly through the sudden ache in his chest, Steve brushed his thumb along one sharp cheekbone.

“I don’t remember,” Bucky said simply.

Sucking in a breath, Steve closed his eyes. He doubted the ache in his chest would ever fade. They had found Bucky, taken him to the Red Room, and they had taken away who he was. Made him forget. Natasha had likened it to being unmade. All because Steve had failed to kill a man, failed to be there to pull Bucky up the one time he’d needed it most, failed to go back for him.

“I loved you,” Steve confessed, so soft even he could barely hear himself, “but you didn’t love me. You weren’t...like me, but you never condemned me for it. You were always…my best friend.”

“Was he everything you said?” Bucky asked, not thrown by Steve’s confession for a second. “In the book. Was he… Is it all true?”

“You were,” Steve answered fervently, his hand tightening on Bucky’s waist. “Every word. All that and more. Is that why you’re here? Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“I didn’t remember,” Bucky said again, “And then the book…and I had to know.”

“Know what?” Steve asked.

Bucky opened his mouth, then shook his head. Swinging his leg over Steve’s torso, he began sliding off the bed completely. Panic shot through Steve and he reached without thinking, catching Bucky’s arm. The gun immediately swung his way again, pointing straight between his eyes, and Steve just didn’t care.

“Please don’t go,” he begged. “Please.”

“Let go of me,” Bucky demanded calmly, the gun not wavering for a moment.

“ _Please_ ,” Steve pleaded again, “Don’t leave. Not again.”

The gun fell away, but Bucky shook his head.

“I don’t remember you. I remember a man, sometimes a boy, saying my name. His name was Stevie. It’s you, I know it’s you, but I don’t _remember_.”

“I don’t care,” Steve said quickly.

Bucky frowned, head tilting the way it would when he had found a particularly puzzling problem.

“You should,” he said simply, “because I’m not him and it’s him you see.”

“Bucky…”

“Stevie,” Bucky said gently, “No.”

Though it felt like tearing off his own limb, Steve let go of Bucky’s arm. Heart breaking in half, he watched as Bucky climbed out of the window and disappeared into the night. Bucky, _his_ Bucky, was alive. Alive and didn’t remember Steve, didn’t remember himself. Worst of all, worse than knowing he had left his best friend at the bottom of a frozen canyon, was knowing that Bucky wanted nothing to do with him.

* * *

 

 **SGR** : This is a group message. Bucky was in my bedroom. I don’t know how he broke in. He’s gone now.

 **IamIronMan** : You don’t have to announce it’s a group message every time, Steve. We know.

 **SpiderQueen** : b there in 10

 **IamIronMan** : Well, you know it’s serious when Nat doesn't use emojis.

 **IamIronMan** : Sure you’re not just losing it, Cap? Bucky’s dead.

 **WingMan** : What do you mean Bucky was in your bedroom?

 **CoffeeAddict** : Did Thor send you mead?

 **SGR** : Thank you, Nat.

 **SGR** : I know he’s dead. I was there when he died. I wrote a book about him because he died and I didn’t. I’m not drunk, Clint. I’m not having a nervous breakdown. He was here.

 **HulkSmash** : Are you ok Steve?

 **CoffeeAddict** : Good cause if Thor sent you mead and you didnt share you can’t pet Lucky any more. R u ok?

 **Red** : I can also be there soon

 **SGR** : I’m fine, physically. Not sure where I am otherwise. I watched him fall and then he’s in my bedroom, pointing a gun at me, demanding answers.

 **SpiderQueen** : answers 2 wat

 **SGR** : I would appreciate that, Wanda

 **IamIronMan** : Answers to… Wow, Nat’s faster than JARVIS.

 **WingMan** : A gun?

 **SGR** : He watned to know how I knew him. Who he was. He didn’t seem to remember any of our past. It was very weird.

 **SGR** : *wanted

 **WingMan** : I’m also omw. Bti20

 **Red** : I will be there in twenty as well

 **CoffeeAddict** : Is this a party now?

 **IamIronMan** : Might as well make it one. Race you there, birdman.

 **CoffeeAddict** : Its on, Stark.

 **HulkSmash** : I’ll join you. See you in the garage, Tony.

 **IamIronMan** : Aw, now I gotta take a car. Bruce, baby, you spoil all my fun.

 **HulkSmash** : Thats why you keep me around

 **CoffeeAddict:** Someone remember the beer!

 **SGR** : Thank you everyone, but I think I’ll be all right with Wanda, Natasha and Sam. I’ll call the rest of you in the morning.

 **CoffeeAddict** : Aw, party =(

 **HulkSmash** : Don’t hesitated to call if you change your mind Steve

 **HulkSmash** : hesitate*

 **IamIronMan** : You’re no fun, Steve. Your old flame comes back from the dead and we can’t have a zombie party.

 **SGR** : I’ll call you first, Tony. Goodnight.

 **HulkSmash** : nite

 **CoffeeAddict** : bye

 **IamIronMan** : You better.

* * *

 

Bucky read More Than a Footnote: the life of James Buchanan Barnes over and over. Only when he could remember every chapter, half the words by heart, did he stop reading cover to cover. He re-read the chapters that he liked best: when he refused to leave Stevie behind even though the building they were in was burning down; the winter he worked extra shifts at the docks because Stevie had pneumonia; taking Stevie and their dates to the World's Fair before he shipped out; saying yes to joining Stevie’s new unit when he could have gone home with a Purple Heart. It was who he was, who he had been. A past, a history, he had been convinced was lost to him forever.

Every time he closed the cover, Bucky heard Stevie saying he loved him. When he woke up, he heard it. When he fell asleep, he heard it. Every time he heard it, he heard him say Bucky had never loved him. Knowing Stevie had loved him made Bucky’s heart race. The thought that he had never returned that affection made it ache with the sheer…wrongness of it.

Not that he could remember the conversation in question. His memory was coming back to him now in pieces, snippets and dreams, as if all it had needed was a little push. Bucky took that push and ran with it. He devoured everything he could find on Steve Rogers and Captain America, as well as everything written about James Buchanan Barnes and the other Howling Commandos. Sometimes the information gave him new memories, sometimes he knew in his bones that it was wrong. Not that he could always say why, like he couldn’t say why he knew Steve was wrong. Bucky had loved him.

So why had he turned Steve away?

* * *

 

The car stopped in front of a brownstone, the mirror image of those on the right and left. Bucky wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing, coming here. The Black Widow had ambushed him in his garage, reminding him it was Steve’s birthday. Having an agent of the Red Room pointing a gun at him had been unnerving, but she had convinced him it wasn’t a trap and he had agreed to accompany her. Honestly, Bucky wanted to see Steve, even if he still didn’t have an answer to his question.

Natasha climbed from the car first. The neighborhood wasn’t anything special, but it was clean and the people here clearly took pride in their homes. Little planters filled half the windows, full of blooming flowers. The walkways were well tended, the trees trimmed and not overgrown. It was the kind of neighborhood Bucky would have liked to live in, if he wasn’t so attached to Brooklyn.

Bucky took a moment to assess if an ambush was eminent, then followed up the steps. Inside, he could hear the sounds of people laughing, music playing, drinks being poured. Steve laughing, just like Bucky remembered, and making him hesitate. Natasha took a quick left and disappeared from sight. A warm rush of, “Nat!” and “Natasha!” heralded her arrival.

“Happy birthday, old man,” Natasha said teasingly.

Creeping closer, Bucky hesitated in the doorway to see Steve hugging her as if she wasn’t a deadly assassin.

“What?” Stevie teased back. “No fossil jokes?”

“Sam made us promise not to,” Tony Stark, the only one of the six people present Bucky recognized, answered from the bar in the corner of the dining room.

“So why were you late?” Stevie asked, his hand on her hip.

Natasha hesitated, suddenly unsure, and Bucky wanted to bolt. He had taken half a step backwards when she looked his way. Everyone’s eyes followed and Bucky froze, enraptured by the sight of Steve’s eyes full of hope and wonder and surprise. Filled with joy, because Bucky had come along.

“I had to pick up your present,” she murmured.

Steve gulped and surged to his feet.

“Um, hey, Stevie,” Bucky said uneasily, “I…didn’t really have time to get you anything…”

“Also, I might have just sprung this on him today,” Natasha confessed.

A handsome black man, whose family photos decorated the hall, cleared his throat.

“So, let’s get this barbecue started. I’m going to need everyone’s help outside; except Steve and the new guy.”

Stark shook his head.

“I don’t cook. You all go on.”

A curly haired man with glasses took Stark by the arm.

“He’s not-so-subtly telling us to leave Cap and...his friend alone. Remember us talking about social cues?”

“Oh,” Stark looked suddenly both disappointed and abashed. “Right. Sam,” he turned to the homeowner, “teach me to cook.”

As the group filed out, Steve remained standing, staring at Bucky like he was the best gift he had ever gotten. It was unnerving, to say the least. No one should look at him that way, not after everything he had done. Not after everything he’d chosen to do.

“You want something to drink?” Steve asked as the door to the backyard clicked closed. “There’s cake. Sam’s barbecuing, as you’ve probably guessed, so not really any food, but there’s loads to drink. Soda, alcohol, water; I can get you anything. If you want something else…”

“Stevie,” Bucky interrupted, laughing and suddenly completely at ease because he remembered this, “you’re babbling, pal. Take a breath, or...”

They both sucked in a breath.

“I don’t have attacks any more,” Stevie murmured.

“I… I know, I just…” Bucky pushed a hand through his hair, wishing he had brought a hair tie, or shaved in the last week. “Sometimes the memories, when they come back, they’re strong and I…get lost in them. Chased your ghost through Central Park once, back in ‘78. Wanted…”

“Did you catch the ghost?” Stevie asked, holding himself so still Bucky knew he wanted to come closer. Since he wasn’t, Bucky took those steps, stopping at Steve’s side and looking out the window where Steve’s friends were milling about a grill.

“No,” Bucky answered quietly, “The book’s helping, though. I, um,” he looked down, then around at the room, “Water would be nice. I can’t get drunk.”

“Neither can I,” Steve admitted before hurrying into the kitchen. From inside the fridge, he asked, “So, uh, how've you been?”

Bucky snorted and Steve emerged with a bottle of water in one hand, and a blush on his face that turned his ears pink.

“Stevie,” Bucky said fondly, “ happy birthday.”

The smile that lit Steve’s face was radiant. Bucky couldn't remember seeing anything so stunning. Not in his time in the Red Room, not from before, and not in the last sixty years. If he hadn't already known it was bullshit that he hadn't loved Stevie, he would have known then.

“I'm, uh, really glad you decided to come.”

Bucky took the chilled bottle of water and offered a small smile of his own.

“I guess I should thank you for saving New York.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head.

“I wasn’t the only one there, you know. Besides, half of the world doesn't seem to think we should be thanked for New York.”

Bucky scoffed.

“Half the world is full of scared people who can't see a miracle when it happens.”

“Calling it the miracle is pretty far-fetched, Buck.”

Cracking open the water bottle, Bucky took a long drink before lowering it and screwing the lid back on. He eyed Stevie, assessing if he was being serious. Determining that he was, Bucky shook his head and let a wry smile tug at the corner of his lips.

“It's either a miracle, or a coincidence, and I don't believe in coincidences. Just a few years before aliens invade Earth, Tony Stark builds the Iron Man suit. Weeks before, you wake from a seventy-year nap. A year before, Thor comes to Earth and decides the planet is full of people he wants to keep safe. That's way too many coincidences for me.”

Steve stood stock still, staring at Bucky, his mouth agape.

“How,” he sputtered, “do you know all that? It's classified.”

Bucky shrugged his metal shoulder, absently wondering if Steve would realize it wasn’t real.

“I've been out of the game for a while now, but I still know people. When the Red Room is after you, it pays to always be cautious. When things got weird, I made sure I knew what was going on. In case any of the old players thought they could still bring in the Asset.”

“Asset? Steve asked curiously, taking half a step closer.

“You don't want to know, Stevie.”

“But I do,” Steve disagreed. “I want to know everything. I've missed out on so much; I wasn't there for you. I should have been, and I wasn't, but I'm here now and you're here and I… If you don't want to tell me, that's fine, but I want to know if you do. I mean, if you want me to know.”

Bucky frowned, but didn’t move when Steve crept closer as if Bucky would spook if he moved too fast. Or, maybe, pulled him to him like the moon to the tides. A ridiculous thought, one far too romantic for the man he’d become, but maybe not the one he had been.

“Next time,” Bucky said, “It’s your birthday.”

Somehow, Stevie’s smile grew even bigger.

“So you did get me something, then.”

Bucky blinked, more than a little confused.

“I did?”

Stevie nodded.

“I get a next time.”

The realization of what he’d said made Bucky’s limbs stiffen. Taking a half step back, he watched Steve’s face crumple. It was too much, too painful to see, so he reversed the step, and reached out, his left hand catching Steve’s wrist.

“I’m not… I don’t…”

When had it grown so hard to breathe? Bucky didn’t know, but Steve was staring at his hand, wonder returned to his eyes. Because of a touch, because Bucky wasn’t running, because Bucky was here. Yet, he still couldn’t speak, couldn’t get the words past his lips. That he was afraid, that he didn’t know what they were, that he didn’t have friends, lovers, anything. He was a lone wolf and he liked it that way, but he also wanted Steve in his life.

Just, under his terms.

“My security code is 031017,” Steve said.

That shut Bucky’s mouth faster than anything had in sixty years. According to the book that was his birthday, but more than that significance was that Steve was offering it. The code that took down Steve’s security system so he could get inside. So he could come to Steve, on his own terms, without having to ask.

“You’re a good friend,” Bucky said thickly.

Steve beamed again, meeting Bucky’s gaze.

“Two presents, then.”

Bucky didn’t need an explanation this time.

“I should,” Bucky motioned toward the door. “I’m, uh, not…good with gatherings. Strangers.”

“Okay,” Steve said, still smiling though he was clearly disappointed, “But next time?”

Bucky laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Stubborn, aren’t you? Yeah, Stevie, next time. Maybe I can introduce you to some modern sci-fi.” Stevie’s eyes widened and Bucky smiled softly. “Yeah, I remember dragging you to movies and the library. Still like sci-fi; that hasn’t changed. So?”

“Yeah, that’s great! I mean,” Steve blushed, “Yeah. Okay.”

Bucky hesitated, then lightly tapped his fist against Steve’s shoulder. Friendly, playful, familiar. From the way Steve’s eyes lit up, it was something he had done before. Bucky didn’t remember that, but it had felt like the right thing to do. Maybe not everything would come to him through memories.

“See ya, pal.”

Stepping around Steve, Bucky headed for the door. Before leaving the room, he glanced back to find Stevie staring after him. Hope shone so brightly in his blue eyes that Bucky had to look away again. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

* * *

 

The party ran late, everyone climbing onto Sam’s roof to watch the fireworks at night. They had all wanted to talk about Bucky - except for Nat - and Steve was, for the first time, sick of the subject. It wasn’t like he had answers either, just a vague promise for a ‘next time’, which could as easily be tomorrow as the next week, or the next decade. Steve hated it, the not knowing. Not that he would ever say so to Bucky. His best friend needed space; that was fine, he could give him that. It was the least he could do.

He still hated it.

Phone chiming as he entered his condo overlooking Central Park, he pulled it out to find a text from Nat.

 **Spiderling** : home safe? ;D

Steve shook his head, but smiled as he disengaged the alarm system.

 **SGR** : When did you change your contact name in my phone?

 **Spiderling** : fast like ninja! Qx

 **Spiderling** : swift like… smth swift…

Steve laughed.

“Um.”

Head whipping up, Steve stared at the owner of that voice amongst the modern furnishings that Nat and Sam had helped pick out and Pepper and Tony had purchased as a housewarming gift. Frankly, Bucky didn’t fit among the sleek furniture. He had changed out of his blue coveralls and into black jeans, a long-sleeved red henley over a green shirt that peaked out of the unbuttoned collar. The gloves were still there as well, but even more out of place than at the party.

That wasn’t what made it weird, though. It was that Bucky was here, standing uncomfortably in Steve’s living room. He had spoken of miracles at the party, but Bucky was the real miracle in Steve’s life. He deserved better than to be standing in Steve’s boring tan, blue, and grey living room.

“Bucky,” Steve breathed.

His phone chimed.

 **Spiderling** : Tony chngd his ring tone 2 ironman agn + ur ring tone 4 evrythg 2 amrica fuc ya =X ^_^;; sry not sry >=D

Looking up at Bucky, he said quickly, “Um, just lemme answer this. Nat, she… Not important. Just a second.”

“Okay,” Bucky said neutrally, but he still looked plenty nervous.

Steve quickly typed in a reply to Natasha.

 **SGR** : I actually don’t mind. Bucky is here. Call you later. Turning off my phone.

Holding down the power button, Steve did just that and then tossed it onto the table placed in the entryway for his keys.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, turning to Bucky as hope swelled in his chest again. ‘Next time’ hadn’t been a day, a week, a year, or a decade. It had been hours. “So, um, sci-fi?”

The tension melted from Bucky’s posture and he smiled at Steve, a little thing, but grateful.

“Yeah, I brought my favorite show. Battlestar Galactica. They rebooted it, so there’s the first version and the second. Which one interests you more?”

Steve didn’t care. He couldn’t stop smiling, either. Bucky hadn’t said this much to him since their other meeting here, where he’d had a gun pressed to his head. This was much, much better. The lack of a firearm helped.

“Which do you like more?”

“Well,” Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets, “They’re kind of different animals, you know? The first one is all sci-fi and drama, and the second is all sci-fi, drama, and religion. Don’t think it’s really something that should be compared.”

Steve snorted, walking around the couch and dropping into the seat he considered his own. It had the best lighting to draw by during the day. That end of the coffee table had also been drawn closer to the couch so Steve could put his feet up on it.

“I don’t believe for a second that you don’t have one you like more than the other,” Steve declared.

Scowling, Bucky stalked over and slapped Steve’s feet off the coffee table.

“What’re you, an animal?”

It was so achingly familiar, Steve’s throat went tight. Without thinking, he caught Bucky’s arm and pulled him close. Wrapping his arms around his waist he held tight. There was the obvious bulge of a gun at the base of his spine, but Steve ignored that. He pressed his face into Bucky’s stomach, feeling his warmth, reveling in the fact that he was alive. When Bucky’s arms carefully closed around his shoulders, he shuddered, holding back tears.

“You go armed everywhere?” he asked Bucky’s belly.

“Better safe than sorry,” Bucky said stiffly. “Is it a problem?”

Steve shook his head.

“Whatever makes you more comfortable. I’m just… I’m just so glad you’re here.”

For the second time that night, the tension seemed to have left Bucky, running out of him like water. His arms tightened around Steve’s shoulders and a hand slipped into his hair. Holding him, carding his fingers through the short strands like he used to when Steve had been sick, or upset, or just needed a hug. Bucky was the only one he had ever let comfort him like this, and that hadn’t seemed to have changed.

“I’m here,” Bucky assured quietly. “This show ain’t gonna watch itself, though.”

The first traces of Bucky’s old Brooklyn accent seeping into his voice made Steve laugh and sit back. Smiling tentatively at his old friend, he nodded to the other side of the couch. He’d prefer Bucky closer, his feet in Steve’s lap like they always used to be when they were alone in their apartment, but he was done asking for miracles. He wasn’t sure he even deserved the one he had gotten.

“Then get it started, O sci-fi guru.”

Bucky snorted and plopped into the designated seat.

They watched four episodes of the original series, quiet, just sitting with each other. Sometimes Steve would ask a question when he didn’t understand something in the show. Bucky never said a word unless Steve spoke first. It was a stark change from his friend who could barely shut up. Then again, Steve had been thinking that since they reunited after Azzano. Bucky had been quieter then and this wasn’t much different.

Sometime during the fifth episode, Bucky shifted on the couch so that he was lying down, head pillowed on the arm rest. He scrunched up, looking really uncomfortable to Steve, but he wasn’t sure he should say anything. When he shifted again, then again, and Bucky’s feet touched his thigh, Steve was glad he’d kept his mouth shut.

Lips quirking, because Bucky was so not subtle, he slipped his arm under Bucky’s ankles and lifted them into his lap. Though he was sorely tempted, he didn’t glance in Bucky’s direction to see his reaction. Steve kept his own face neutral, as if his heart wasn’t racing, as if he could hardly believe they were here again.

It was a dream, surely. Nothing so good could be real.

Except, Steve realized, it wasn’t good. Bucky had been through hell to get here. Had had his past taken from him, his life, his mind, his memories, and god knew what else. Natasha had so many scars from her time with the Red Room, and she couldn’t even remember most of it. What had they done to Bucky?

And Steve was _grateful_.

He was a monster.

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurted.

Bucky shifted, paused the show, and rolled onto his back. He left his feet in Steve’s lap.

“For?” he prompted.

Steve didn’t look away from frozen picture on the screen.

“I… For being glad you’re here. What you must have gone through and I… I’m glad you’re here. It’s selfish and awful, but I can’t stop, and I’m sorry.”

Unable to look at Bucky, Steve had no idea how he was taking this apology. Steve couldn’t look, though. It was horrible, what he felt; how he had hugged Bucky and been so happy to see him. What Bucky must think of him… Steve didn’t want to know, but he would soon. He hoped he hadn’t lost him all over again. Anything, but that.

Stockinged toes nudged at Steve’s arm, then his thigh. When Steve didn’t so much as twitch, Bucky sighed.

“I like it,” he said quietly.

Steve turned to look at him so fast, his neck popped.

“What? But…”

Bucky shrugged, color running high on his cheeks.

“No one ever missed me before,” he said just as softly. “No one. I always thought they took everything, and then there you were and you knew me and… Sometimes, I feel like I’ve known you all my life and, I know that’s technically true, but I still don’t _remember_. I don’t remember _most_ things, but… If you weren’t happy to see me, if you weren’t glad I was here, it wouldn’t… It wouldn’t feel right. So…I’m glad you’re glad. Okay?”

Wrapping his hand around Bucky’s ankle, he brushed his thumb over the protruding bone and nodded.

“Okay,” he breathed out.

Clearing his throat, Bucky looked back at the television.

“Now shut up, punk. Was watchin’ my show.”

“Then turn it back on, jerk,” Steve shot back, feeling weightless, like everything was finally all right. After the ice, after the pain and loss and grief, everything could be all right. Bucky was back, he was home. Natasha, Sam, and Peggy would call him melodramatic, but it felt like he had opened his eyes again after getting the serum and the colors were bright and brilliant all around.

In the ‘40s, Bucky would have called him a sap. Steve wondered what this Bucky would say, but decided not to mention it. They were friends, and Steve wasn’t going to push that. Not when the string between them was already so frayed and tattered it could snap at any moment.

Before the sixth episode ended, Steve fell asleep. Right there on the couch, Bucky’s feet in his lap, his fingers tracing patterns along his ankles. When he woke again, the apartment was dark and someone had carried him to bed. That someone had tucked him in as well, leaving a glass of water at his bedside. In case he got to coughing in the night, which he wouldn’t, but…

Steve brushed the glass and let out a sigh of contentment.

* * *

 

Steve came home to Bucky in his home every other night after that. He didn’t mind, he _never_ minded. It was odd, though, never knowing when he would have company. He started keeping snacks and drinks on hand, just in case. For the first few weeks, they just watched shows. Battlestar Galactica (Steve preferred the reboot), then Star Wars, The Martian -

“Hey, Buck, that Dr. Beck looks a lot like you.”

“Nah, my jaw is stronger and I’d never make faces like that. You kind of look like Watney, though. Maybe I should start calling you Captain Blond-Beard.”

“Ha ha; I am way prettier than Matt Damon.”

“Yeah, but you’re dumb enough to get stuck on Mars.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty.”

“Shut up, Rogers, and watch the movie.”

\- and Firefly. They didn’t really talk, just sat close. Bucky always started the night on the far end of the couch, but his feet always ended up in Steve’s lap. For his part, Steve always fell asleep, no matter how many times Bucky told him to say when he got tired. Steve just couldn’t; that meant Bucky would leave. He always woke in his own bed, though, a glass of water on the side table.

They were starting Star Trek, a show with so many iterations, seasons, and movies Bucky promised would take months to get through, when without warning, Bucky paused the show and asked quietly, “Can I ask you about back then? Being around you, it’s… I remember more. Not everything, I’m starting to think I won’t ever get everything, but maybe asking…”

“Of course, Buck,” Steve had said, surprised he had even felt the need to ask. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Why wouldn’t it be okay for you to ask?”

Bucky had pushed a hand through his hair - always gloved, though Steve had never asked why - and sighed deeply.

“I feel like, when I remember something, it gets your hopes up that I’m him. Old me, and I’m not ever gonna be him again.”

It had been too much for Steve to hold in his snort of derision.

“Buck, you stopped being ‘him’ during the War. I was always gonna have to get used to your new edges. You’re just…sharper than I thought you’d be.”

Finally Bucky turned to look at him, dark blue eyes curious and open. It made Steve smile since, even after all this time, he was normally closed-off and distant. The feet in his lap notwithstanding.

“What do you mean?”

Steve shrugged his shoulder and rubbed circles over Bucky’s ankle bone with his thumb; he’d worn sandals this time and there were no socks to cover his skin.

“After Azzano, you weren’t ever the same. Quieter sometimes, sometimes louder, I was barely used to it when you…fell.” Steve’s heart stuttered the way it always did with his guilt at failing Bucky, at losing him and watching him drop into that abyss. “Didn’t know you as well as I’d always done, so this is just…a continuation of last time we were together.”

Distance filled Bucky’s gaze, as if he was remembering, or absorbing the information. Steve didn’t know which, and he still wasn’t comfortable to push. He wondered if Bucky knew that, if he remembered them enough to know this relationship, this friendship was far different from the one they had had. Oh, there were similarities, but now they weren’t in each other’s pockets, in each other’s heads or hearts. Bucky didn’t ask after his day and Steve, well, Steve didn’t even know where, or what Bucky did when he wasn’t on Steve’s couch.

“You kept Peggy’s picture in your compass,” he said. “I saw, in one of the war clips, but I don’t…know why. I thought you said you were gay?”

Steve flushed, his hand stilling against Bucky’s skin.

“I, um,” he cleared his throat, now looking anywhere but at Bucky. “Well, see, it wasn’t legal and Pegs, she knew, so… She said she wanted to make sure nothin’ bad happened to me, so she stuffed that picture in my compass, knowing people would see. Said, when the War ended, she’d marry me to make sure they left me alone. She was…she was swell. Wouldn’t have let her do that, but the thought was… It was something.”

“I was jealous of her, why?”

That made Steve squirm.

“I dunno, Buck. You wouldn’t tell me.”

“None of this was in your book.”

Steve made himself meet Bucky’s gaze and squirmed again under the piercing, accusatory look. It was the same look he’d always been given when Bucky thought he was up to something. For once, Steve wasn’t, but he still felt like he’d gotten caught necking with Donny McBride behind the movie theater again.

“Wasn’t supposed to be about me, Buck. If I’d come out like that, it would have completely defeated the purpose of reminding the world you weren’t ever just a footnote. You were… You were…” Steve swallowed and made himself hold that suspicious gaze. “You know I always drop my left?”

The piercing gaze softened into confusion.

“What?”

“I drop my left, when I’m fighting. Drives Nat crazy, but I just forget about it because you were always there. You were always on my left and I didn’t have to worry about it; not in back alleys, not during the War, just… Just now. You weren’t Captain America’s sidekick. You were my _partner_ , and I never would have been able to do half - a _quarter_ of anything without you. Then I went into the ice and everyone just…overlooked you. Forgot you. I couldn’t stand it.”

The expression on Bucky’s face was too complicated for Steve to understand. He bumped his foot into Steve’s hand, however, an insistence to start touching again. Of course Steve obeyed, he could never deny Bucky any kind of contact, but he didn’t stop staring into Bucky’s eyes, either. They were soft again, clear, like Bucky was seeing Steve for the first time.

“So you wrote a book.”

It wasn’t quite a question, but Steve didn’t know how else to take it.

“Sam suggested it,” he admitted. “I guess I complained a lot about it, so he said I should set the record straight and it was…cathartic. Best thing I think I’ve ever done; I mean… It brought me you.”

Color bloomed on Bucky’s cheeks and he looked toward the television, un-pausing the show. Silence fell between them again, like nothing unusual had happened. Like they hadn’t had a moment where they were more than just two guys who liked to watch sci-fi together. That was all right, though. Frankly, Steve didn’t really like sci-fi and he knew that Bucky remembered that. This was just what they’d done back then, Bucky draggin’ Steve off to watch something, ‘Not completely boring and high-brow, ‘cause we ain’t Rockefellers, Stevie.’ He’d always gone without a complaint because it was Bucky. He’d take whatever the guy offered, movies alone in a dark theater, just the two of them, or this.

* * *

 

 **Spiderling** : pick up n 5 out front

 **SGR** : Okay. Is there an emergency? How do you even know where I am?

 **Spiderling** : training + i no evrythng -.-

 **SGR** : Creepy face is creepy. Does training really need to interrupt my day off?

 **Spiderling** : art museums r boring. ur gonna have fun if it kills u

 **Spiderling** : might kill u ,==,--

 **SGR** : What is that? Do I want to know since you’re threatening me?

 **Spiderling** : its a gun. bang bang bb XD

* * *

 

Steve had complained the entire trip from the Met to Stark Tower about Natasha interrupting his day. The second they stepped onto the training floor, however, Steve’s mouth snapped shut. Standing on one of the blue mats in loose-fitting grey sweats and a sinfully tight black tanktop, was Bucky. It was the first time he had seen him without the long sleeved shirts and gloves, and Steve finally understood why.

Bucky’s entire left arm was made of metal.

Recovering from his shock as Natasha tried to pass him, Steve caught her arm and spun her around.

“What’s he doing here?” he hissed.

Natasha gave him a flat, unimpressed look and shook off his hand.

“He heard you drop your left.”

“Spiderling,” Bucky called, “You’re late.”

Shaking Steve off, Natasha tossed her head and walked toward Bucky. Was it Steve’s imagination, or had she put a swing into her hips? As he trailed behind, he was certain of it. It was the kind of gait she usually reserved for marks.

Weird.

“You can call me Natasha,” Nat said as she stopped at the edge of the mat.

Shaking his head, Bucky looked to Steve as he came up on Natasha’s left.

“I’ll stick with the name I gave you, Spiderling.”

A nickname Natasha was fond of, if she’d stolen Steve’s phone to change her contact name to it.

“You two knew each other?” Steve asked, unable to help himself, but not sure if he was about to set off a mortar round. “From… Red Room?”

“The Red Room keeps its secrets,” Bucky said cryptically.

“That’s not an answer,” Steve pointed out.

Bucky shrugged and Natasha looked away, tossing her hair again. Steve wasn’t actively suicidal, so he changed the subject.

“You volunteer to train me, Buck?” Steve asked.

“When I’m done with you,” Bucky said in a tone of voice that made Steve’s toes curl, “you won’t drop your left any more.”

Bucky kept his promise. To Steve’s surprise, he was an incredibly competent instructor. He had Steve spar with Natasha over and over, smacking Steve’s head and yelling whenever Steve dropped his left. Natasha, of course, didn’t go easy on him. She never did, and between the two of them, Steve was more than a little sore by day’s end. In the last half hour, he hadn’t dropped his left, so he wasn’t complaining (out loud) when Bucky finally declared him moderately sufficient and kicked them both into the showers.

After the workout, Steve’s brain wasn’t working at full capacity and he practically bowled Bucky over coming out of the shower. Not that he knew it was Bucky at the time, what with a towel draped over his head as he dried his hair. When strong, steady arms caught his shoulders, Steve yanked the towel down and blinked into dark blue eyes.

“You’re here,” he said inanely.

“Was waiting for you.”

Steve became immediately aware of the hot and cold hands on his skin. For whatever reason, Bucky hadn’t let go. They were closer than they’d been since his birthday, touching more than they had since the War, and what was left of Steve’s brain took a hike. He stood in the door to the small locker room, staring into Bucky’s blue eyes, dressed in nothing more than a towel, and practically forgot how to breathe.

Lips quirking in a familiar half smirk, Bucky teased, “Earth to Steve. Come in, Captain Blond Beard.”

“I don’t have a beard,” was what came out of Steve’s mouth.

Bucky laughed, dropped his hands and stepped away.

“You should try it. Bet you’d look good.”

Blushing, Steve went to his locker and pulled out a change of clothes.

“What were you waiting for me for?” he asked, sliding his underwear on beneath the towel before tossing it aside. Ages past, he would have just stripped down and changed. That was back when they’d shared an apartment, shared everything except the girls Bucky brought home.

“Figured I’d give you a ride back to your place instead of making you take the subway,” Bucky answered as Steve continued to get dressed. “Could stay for some more Star Trek, if you want.”

Steve groaned before he thought about it, leaning forward until he hit his head on the locker.

“Can’t we do something else? Come home with me and…I’ll cook us dinner. We can…talk, or not, but… I’m so tired, Buck.”

Twisting, his upper body, he looked over at Bucky and paused. Bucky was leaning against another locker a few feet away, his entire body tense. The happiness was gone from his eyes and expression. When he realized Steve was looking, his face smoothed into blankness, but it was far too late to hide that he was upset.

“Didn’t know that was an option,” Bucky said roughly.

Steve stared, then pushed himself off the cool metal. Yanking his shirt over his head, he stepped close to Bucky, in case the guy tried to bolt. It wasn’t like Steve could chase after him; he didn’t know where to begin looking.

“Hang on, is movie night a thing because that’s what you remember we used to do? We used to do a lot more than that, Buck.”

Stubbornly, Bucky didn’t meet his gaze.

“I don’t remember anything else.”

“Bucky,” Steve said pleadingly, ducking his head to catch those blue eyes, “Buck, hey. Besides that you could’ve asked. It doesn’t matter what we used to do, just matters that we enjoy spending time together. That’s what makes people friends.”

Tentatively, Bucky’s gaze flicked to Steve’s and his shoulders lowered a fraction.

“If you didn’t like the shows, you should have said something.”

Steve laughed.

“Bucky, I’m just tired,” he promised. “I’m gonna pass out in minutes if we watch television and I wanna spend time with you, if you’ve got it. Maybe don’t kick my ass so hard and we can watch something next time, yeah?”

Pressing his lips into a flat line, Bucky’s eyes searched Steve’s for any sign of deceit. Steve held his gaze, wishing he’d known this earlier, but glad that he knew now. The shows were fun, Sam and Tony had been pleased with his new cultural knowledge, but he didn’t want Bucky trying so hard for him. Not to be someone he himself said he wasn’t.

“Fine,” Bucky said shortly, his shoulders relaxing completely, “but I’m cooking. You can’t boil an egg.”

Steve squawked, jerking his head back.

“That was one time!”

“Says you,” Bucky sniffed, “Not like I can remember.”

Laughing, Steve returned to his locker and slammed it shut.

* * *

 

 **Wingman** : Laura kicked Clint out of the house. Something about arrows in her lingerie. I do not want to know. Can we come over? We’ll play monopoly or something old that you’ll like

 **SGR** : Bucky’s making me dinner.

 **Wingman** : Ok? Is that a no?

 **Wingman** : Is it like a date?

 **Wingman** : ARE YOU ON A REAL DATE?!

 **SGR** : NO!

 **SGR** : I mean, no, it’s not a real date.

 **SGR** : I’ll ask if you guys can come over. We’re at the store, so maybe he’ll just be willing to make more.

 **Wingman** : Damn, thought maybe you were finally becoming a real man

 **SGR** : Shut up.

 **SGR** : So, color me surprised, but Bucky said it would be okay. He said he’d actually like to try meeting my friends again, especially if they’re in smallr numbers.

 **SGR** : smaller*

 **Wingman** : Cool, I’ll tell Clint

 **Wingman** : Bti40

 **Wingman** : Would be 20, but Clint is crying on the couch into my coffee ice cream

 **SGR** : Is that a joke?

 **Wingman** : No, man, he’s really crying into my coffee ice cream. Ok, he says it’s ‘manly sniffling’ we tf that is

 **SGR** : I’ll buy beer and more coffee ice cream.

 **Wingman** : See, this is why we’re friends

* * *

 

“So Clint is the archer, Hawkeye?” Bucky asked as the incredible-smelling sauce simmered on the stove. Steve was perched at his island, watching with his arms folded on the counter. It was almost too easy to imagine them in a smaller apartment, Bucky at an older stove after coming home from the dock, complaining that if Steve could just learn to cook he wouldn’t have to do all the work.

“Mm,” Steve answered, “and Sam is Falcon. Nat introduced me to Clint. I met Sam in D.C. when I was out for a run.”

“What were you doing in D.C.?” Bucky asked, glancing over at him.

Steve made a face.

“Peggy was dying. I wanted… I wanted to be close.”

“Oh,” Bucky said carefully, “Is she..?”

“Gone,” Steve said shortly.

Before Bucky could respond, the doorbell rang, saving Steve from that awkward conversation. Sliding off his stool, he hurried to the door to let his friends in. On the other side, Sam had his ‘this is bullshit’ face on and Clint looked downright miserable. He was still doing his manly sniffing thing, too.

“Hey, guys, we’re in the kitchen. You okay, Clint?”

“Yeah,” the archer said with a sigh. “Laura’s just pissed off, you know?”

Steve hummed noncommittally and the guys followed Steve into the kitchen where Bucky hadn’t abandoned his pots and pans. It took a lot to get Laura worked up enough to kick Clint out of the house. The woman had the patience of a saint, and a heart of gold.

“Guys, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Sam and Clint.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and nodded once.

“Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a little from Steve.”

Sam grinned, taking Steve’s seat at the island. Still sniffling, Clint took the seat to his right. Without a word, Steve pulled a beer from his fridge and handed it to the archer who cracked his first smile of the night.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Only the best things, I hope,” Sam said to Bucky.

“Like Steve would say a bad word about a fly,” Bucky huffed.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Oh, so he hasn’t regaled you with his political views, then.”

Laughing, Bucky started combining pasta and sauces and vegetables from the pans in a large bowl.

“Are you kidding? You should have heard this kid back in the day. Ranting about socialism and capitalism, and fascism, police brutality, corrupt politicians; Jesus, he’s got a mouth. What I should have said, was a fly he was friends with.”

“It’s an ant, actually,” Clint muttered.

“What?” Bucky asked, pausing his mixing.

“Why’s she mad this time?” Steve asked, quickly changing the subject before he had to somehow explain Scott’s suit. Steve still didn’t understand that himself.

“This time?” Clint huffed, curling in on himself on the island. “She’s hardly ever mad at me.”

“Dude,” Sam said with a laugh, clapping Clint on the shoulder, “That lady is always pissed at you. She does murder glare better than Nat.”

“That’s not her actually mad,” Clint protested, taking the seat next to Steve at the island, “That’s…fondly annoyed. Like when I forget to put on pants. This is…she’s mad-mad.”

“So,” Steve asked, “What did you do?”

“Who says it was me?” Clint demanded.

Steve and Sam exchanged a look, then said in tandem, “Aw, drinks!”

Clint flushed at the mention of the mishap at Steve’s birthday.

“I did not drop those on purpose,” he protested fervently. “I also didn’t know it was a new dress and if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered, because I _didn’t do it on purpose_!”

“Uh huh,” Sam said, unconvinced.

“So,” Steve repeated, “What did you do?”

Frowning, Clint shoved his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t do anything, not yet, she’s just mad ‘cause of the stabbing thing.”

Clint motioned with his hand, stabbing repeatedly forward, then slicing down and connecting with Bucky as he carried to plates of food to the island. One, laden with pasta, skittered across the counter, clattering to the floor where it shattered on the ground, sending food and broken ceramic in all directions.

“Aw, food,” Clint said, his face crumpling into sadness.

“It’s fine,” Bucky assured. “Just…stop flailing.”

“You _stabbed_ Laura?” Sam demanded.

“Man, I know she’s mad,” Clint went on, bursting with words, “she’s so mad, and she’s got every right to be. I know my brother isn’t a good guy -”

It was Steve’s turn to groan, the mention of Barney Barton enough to take his thoughts from his own pain. The guy was a menace, but he was Clint’s only family. No matter how many times the guy screwed him over, Clint never seemed to learn. Always thought that this time, he would be half the brother Clint was.

“- I know, Cap, but it’s _Barney_ , and he needs my help and yeah, last time it ended with arrows shot through Laura’s favorite lingerie, but that was an _accident_. I was distracted and I hadn’t had my coffee yet and my brother had just shot me in the leg, so, I mean, I deserve a little slack.”

“You said stabbing,” Sam said slowly.

Steve sighed.

“Barney literally stabbed Clint in the back before he shot him in the leg. So, ‘the stabbing thing’.”

“Oh,” Sam said meaningfully.

“Yeah,” Clint muttered, drooping onto the counter and sniffling into his arm, “I’m a jerk. It’s just… It’s _Barney_.”

“You’re an idiot is what you are,” Steve said flatly, “but if you need anything, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Goes for me, too, man,” Sam said, squeezing Clint’s shoulder. “And, you know, Laura loves you. She just wants what’s best for you and we all know Barney ain’t it.”

“Yeah,” Clint sighed, “but he’s my brother.”

Clearing his throat, Bucky set another plate of food in front of Clint. The archer sat up, beaming, and pulled it closer to him. Taking that as his cue, Steve passed over a fork to him, then Sam.

“I’ll get the floor clean,” Steve said, going to step around Bucky.

Bucky caught his arm, glancing up at Steve’s face before his gaze darted away again.

“I got it. Go get yourself a plate, Stevie.”

“Okay,” Steve said slowly.

As Bucky went to get the broom and dustpan, Steve served himself a healthy portion of the pasta and vegetable mix. There was still more than enough left over for Bucky, even with all that was scattered over the floor. Steve might need to grab a snack later, but that was fine.

When he turned around again, he watched Bucky pick up a piece of ceramic. The edge must have been sharp, because it slipped and sliced into his finger. Cursing, Bucky dropped it and stuck his finger in his mouth. Steve set his plate down, caught Bucky by the arm, and pulled him to the sink. Turning on the tap, he pulled Bucky’s hand beneath the flow and tried not to blush as he felt Bucky’s gaze hot on his cheek.

“Steve, I’m fine,” Bucky said gently.

“It could get infected,” Steve insisted, still holding off the blush.

“No,” Bucky jerked his hand from Steve’s, showing him the already-healed cut, “it can’t.”

“You’re enhanced?” Steve asked, feeling dizzy.

Bucky looked up at him and nodded.

“That’s why I don’t age. That’s why I’m not dead.”

“Oh,” Steve managed, feeling the weight of Bucky’s gaze, waiting for his reaction. Thing was, Steve didn’t know what to think of that. After meeting Bruce, he knew he hadn’t been the last experiment with Erskine’s serum. But the thought that Bucky had been one of those experiments…

“You hated that I volunteered for it,” Steve’s mouth said.

Bucky turned back to cleaning.

“I didn’t volunteer.”

* * *

 

Something thumped against Stevie’s door. Sitting up, Bucky looked at the solid wood and tossed another handful of popcorn into his mouth. Whoever it was slammed into the door again and then fumbled for the knob. A key scraped against the lock. All in all, it was a rather strange way for Stevie to get inside, so Bucky stayed put, hopelessly curious and feeding kernel after kernel into his waiting mouth.

The lock finally slid home and Stevie fumbled with the deadbolt. Another thump against the door and it crashed inward. Stevie stumbled across, wrapped in the arms of a man with black hair hanging well far down his back, dressed in low slung jeans and a mesh shirt that had to be cold in the fall weather. Both his hands were shoved down the back of Stevie’s jeans, Stevie’s arms around the stranger’s thin back.

Bucky ate another handful of popcorn, his curiosity only intensified now he knew why Stevie had struggled so hard with his door.

Kicking his front door shut, Stevie moaned as the man got a firm grip on his ass and shoved him against the wall. When he went for the buttons of his jeans, however, Bucky realized he should probably let them know he was there. Otherwise, Stevie was likely to kill him. Bucky could have snuck out without either being any the wiser of his presence, but he _had_ waited over an hour for Steve to get home.

Clearing his throat, he watched the stranger spring from Stevie like he was on fire. Bucky hid a grin in another fistful of popcorn and then waved his butter-slick fingers at the panting, flushed, duo. Stevie was staring at him in adorable, puppy-dog confusion. The stranger just looked tanned and furious, dark brown eyes growing angrier by the moment.

“What the hell, man?” he demanded of Steve. “You didn’t say anything about a third! I ain’t into that _kinky_ shit.”

“But you fuck guys in the ass?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask. “Or do you ‘catch’? That’s the term, right Stevie?”

“Oh my god, Bucky,” Stevie groaned, face and ears crimson. “What are you even doing here?”

“Uh,” Bucky held up the bag of popcorn, “Fifth Element?” They were taking a break from Star Trek: Voyager after Steve had complained Janeway was, ‘More concerned about science and exploration than her crew.’

Stevie slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. The stranger glared at Bucky, full lips twisting in a sneer, clearly still under the impression that this was all a set-up. Obviously, he wasn’t smart enough to date Stevie. This was for the best.

“I’m not fucking you while your boyfriend watches,” Asshole said, “or letting him do me while I do you. You gotta nice ass there, baby, but it ain’t that fine.”

“Is too,” Bucky argued.

“Bucky,” Stevie hissed, turning even redder. “Look, um, Daniel, right?”

“Darren,” the hippie snapped.

“Right, whatever,” Stevie said dismissively. Bucky winced; when this went south, at least Steve couldn’t say Bucky had sabotaged it if Steve hadn’t even known the guy’s name. “You should probably go. My friend’s here and apparently we’re going to watch Netflix.”

Darren stared at Steve like he had grown a second head.

“Hang on,” he said, “this isn’t a set up _and_ a you’re kicking me out? You know what? You’re not worth it anyways.”

When the door slammed, Stevie shook his head and walked to the couch. Placing a hand on the back, he vaulted over to what Bucky considered Stevie’s side. He kicked off his shoes and settled in with his back against the armrest, feet sliding under Bucky’s thigh.

Smiling, Bucky wondered if he should feel guilty for chasing off Stevie’s ‘sure thing’. He didn’t, but maybe a good friend would. It wasn’t like Stevie ever brought anyone home. At least, Bucky hadn’t thought so until tonight. Maybe it was a regular thing. It wasn’t like they talked about what they did when the other was out of sight. That was probably not something a good friend would do either.

“So you bring guys whose names you can’t remember home to fuck you often?”

Stevie threw popcorn at him.

Bucky laughed, but he wasn’t dissuaded.

“Seriously, is this a new thing, or something I forgot about?”

That did it. Stevie sighed, grabbing a throw pillow and shoving it behind his back before scrunching down into his seat. If there was one thing he couldn’t resist, it was answering Bucky’s questions about their past. It had been a pleasant surprise, how open Steve was about their history. Bucky was closed-lipped enough about his own, what he remembered without Steve anyway, that he had expected recalcitrance in return. He hadn’t gotten it, and it was starting to make him feel guilty.

“A new thing,” Steve answered, mumbling it in embarrassment. “It’s not like it was, you know? People just… If they want to have sex without any meaning attached, they just go out and get it. Even people like me. It’s not even frowned upon, or… You remember talking around it? Finding out if a girl wanted to come home? How you never really _asked_?”

Bucky nodded because he did remember that. Dance halls had been full of loose women who were happy for a single night of rolling in the hay. They were also full of women looking for husbands, and Bucky had never been that guy. Finding out what his lady-for-the-evening wanted from him had always been its own complicated dance number.

“Well, now you just ask.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky gave Stevie his best skeptical look.

“I haven’t dated in a long time, but that can’t be right.”

“That’s what I thought,” Stevie agreed, head bobbing, “but you know what I said to Daniel?”

“Darren,” Bucky corrected.

Stevie flapped a hand dismissively.

“I saw him dancing, thought, ‘Jesus he has legs for days,’ walked over and asked him if he wanted to come home and fuck me. He said yes; I called an Uber.”

“An Uber?” Bucky repeated.

The look Stevie shot him was fond.

“How is it I’m more adjusted to this century than you are, and you got here the normal way?”

Bucky huffed, bristling.

“I’m not old.”

Stevie grinned, slow and bright.

“You said it,” he said sarcastically.

Bucky threw a pillow at his head.

“So, you’re not mad your sex buddy went home.”

“Nah,” Steve flapped his hand again, shaking his head at the same time, “It’s not an itch that requires scratching; it’s just nice. ‘Sides, not like I hurt for partners. I can go out tomorrow if I still need to get laid.”

Bucky’s stomach swooped. Resting his hand on Steve’s ankles, he knew he should start the movie, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. This wasn’t right. It was the kind of thing _he_ had done, not Stevie. No, he deserved flowers and romance, not strangers whose names he didn’t even care to recall. Steve’s mind was a steel trap, always had been; if he couldn’t remember Darren’s name, he wasn’t putting an ounce of effort into it.

“It’s really just sex? Nothing… No connection?”

Wrinkling his nose, Steve clutched the pillow Bucky had thrown earlier to his chest defensively.

“Oh, don’t you start. I get enough of that from Sam. ‘Sides, you’re the last to talk. Maybe you don’t do it now, but back in the day you were a regular ladies’ man. Showed all the girls a good time, if they’d have you.”

“That was just ‘cause I was running from what I wanted, Stevie,” Bucky said quietly. “You’re not a coward. You deserve better.”

“Yeah?” Steve threw back, challenge glinting in his eyes, “When was the last time _you_ dated?”

Bucky sighed, pushing his hair out of his face and rubbing his jaw. It itched from the regular shaving it was now getting.

“It’s hard to date when you can’t remember who you are. When you have no past.”

Steve stilled, staring at Bucky with wide eyes.

“You’ve been alone, all this time?”

Shrugging, embarrassed, Bucky nodded. Steve curled forwards, pulling himself smoothly onto his knees, weight on his ankles. Slowly, clearly uncertain if he was allowed to touch, he laid his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Shifting into the contact, Bucky sighed.

“Been a long time since anyone touched me, you know?”

The shit that he was, Steve smirked, “All the more reason for you not to try and give me advice on my love life.”

Bucky laughed and shook his head.

“Yes it is,” he scolded, “All you want is someone to fuck you, Stevie? Not someone to hold in the morning? Someone to have dinner with, to spend your life with?”

“I have friends for that,” Steve said.

When he moved to sit back, Bucky turned, catching his hand. Steve froze and Bucky drew in a sharp breath. Then he placed his hand in the middle of Steve’s chest and pushed him backwards. Steve went, eyes going wide, legs uncurling from beneath him to splay on either side of Bucky’s hips.

“Buck?” he asked, confused and nervous all at once.

“Friends for that, he says,” Bucky scoffed, leaning his weight on his hands on either side of Steve’s head. “Tell me, Stevie; you said you loved him. You loved him and he knew, but he never loved you back. Did you actually tell him?”

“B-ucky,” Steve sputtered in protest, eyes darting around Bucky’s face. Looking for what, Bucky didn’t know.

“Did you tell him? Because I don’t remember that. I don’t remember ever _thinking_ it. I remember finding you behind the cinema. I remember finding you at home with some Joe. I remember seeing you watching the other fellas, smiling and laughing, when you thought I wasn’t looking and I remember wondering, what did they have that I didn’t?”

“Bucky,” Steve gasped. Now his eye were wide, so blue and dark, vulnerable and shocked.

“Did you tell him? Or were you to scared to say the words, Stevie? Like you’re too scared now.”

“I ain’t scared,” Steve puffed up, affronted and adorable.

“Good,” Bucky smirked, leaning down so their lips brushed. “Then you’ll me tell, won’t you? If you have feelings for me? Or do I have to come by in a couple days and scare of the next nameless Joe you try to get into bed?”

“I…” Steve blinked owlishly, “You scared him off?”

“Damn straight I did,” Bucky growled. “Though you not remembering his name didn’t hurt my efforts. Don’t change the subject, Stevie.”

Steve, thank god, didn’t try to change the subject again. Surging up from the couch, he mashed their lips together violently. Though his lip split on his teeth, Bucky kissed Steve back just as hard. A moan punched from Steve’s lungs, his eyes having fallen closed. Holding back a laugh, Bucky slid his flesh hand under Steve’s head to support his neck as they both backed off and deepened the kiss. Tracing his tongue over Steve’s lips, he felt a rush of lust as they parted on another moan, and he slipped his tongue inside.

Either no one had ever kissed Steve properly, or he was incredibly vocal, because he moaned again at the slide of Bucky’s tongue against his own. To Bucky’s surprise, Steve let him lead; let him control the kiss, and the next and the one after. Steve’s hands clutched at his shoulders, his back, tangling in his hair and staying when that drew the first quiet moan from Bucky. Those fingers remained there, combing through the long strands, as Bucky pulled back.

Despite their supersoldier lungs, they were both breathing hard.

“If I take you to bed,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow, “you gonna forget my name?”

Steve laughed, tugging at Bucky’s hair in retaliation.

“God, no. Never. Hell, I won’t even kick you out after.”

Bucky’s other eyebrow shot up, both trying to climb into his hairline.

“You don’t even let them stay the night?”

“God, no,” Steve made a face. “You, though… You I’d make breakfast.”

Rolling off Steve, Bucky stood and offered his hand. Steve took it and allowed Bucky to pull him to his feet. When he didn’t move back, they ended up chest to chest, Bucky looking up the inch so their gazes locked. Desire swam in Stevie’s blue eyes. Bucky still didn’t know which version of him Steve wanted, but he would take this risk.

“What’d I ever do to you that you’d make me suffer your cooking.”

Though his eyes had dropped to Bucky’s lips, they snapped up now, dancing with mirth.

“You jerk! Fine, see if I ever make you breakfast in bed.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Bucky retorted, catching Steve’s hand and linking their fingers together.

Bucky dragged Steve back toward the bedroom and Steve followed, laughing, but didn’t stop. He caught Bucky up at the edge of the bed and tumbled them both onto the soft mattress. Laughing himself, Bucky shoved at Steve and rolled, ending up atop him again like they had been on the couch.

“You sure about this?” Steve asked quietly. “Don’t wanna take things slow?”

“Waited long enough to catch my ghost, Stevie,” Bucky answered, “but you better believe I ain’t gonna let you continue to let fear rule your love life. I expect you to take me out, to tell all your friends, to think of me first when you go off on missions and again when you come back. That way I’ll know you _will_ come back.”

“Don’t wanna watch my six?” Steve asked, half-playful, but still serious.

Bucky huffed, smiling down at Steve as he ran his hand over Bucky’s hip.

“Don’t you mean your left?”

“No,” Steve laughed, “Think you cured me of that.”

“Good,” Bucky purred, leaning down and capturing Steve’s mouth with his own once more.

This time, as he kissed Steve, he stripped him of his clothes. Belt first, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. The khaki slacks followed, pushed down Steve’s legs until he could kick them off himself. Steve’s breath was shallow now, shakey, short exhalations as Bucky worked open the buttons on his shirt. That followed the same path as the belt, and Steve was left in only his underwear, though that didn’t last long. Bucky pulled those all the way off and finally broke their kiss, leaning back to look down at all the naked flesh spread out before him.

Steve was even more gorgeous than Bucky had thought he’d be. Long, golden limbs were corded with strong, bulging muscles. His pecs heaved with each breath, nipples small, hard nubs standing out from his chest. Broad shoulders tapered down to an improbably small waist, a waist any woman would be happy to have. A smattering of golden curls surrounded Steve’s cock, as large and thick as the rest of him. It stood hard, red, the tip shining with precum and curving toward Steve’s stomach.

Licking his lips, Bucky slow pulled his own t-shirt over his head.

“You’re gorgeous, Stevie,” Bucky murmured. “The things I wanna do to you… You gonna be good for me, doll?”

Bucky trailed his eyes back up Steve’s glorious body to his face, smiling at the flush he found on Steve’s cheeks.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve said breathlessly, “I’ll be good.”

A rush of lust shot to Bucky’s groin. It hadn’t been a question he thought Steve would answer. But he had and, from the look of him, he’d meant it. That was… It was almost too much.

“Jesus, doll, you make me so hard. Tell me what you like. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, breathless, his hands lifting from the bed to perch on Bucky’s hips.

“You want it hard, or slow, or deep?”

Steve’s breath hitched and his cock twitched.

“Hard,” he answered. “Deep.”

Smoothing his hands over Steve’s stomach, Bucky avoided his cock, but let his fingers trail through the pre-come that had dripped onto his skin. Steve shuddered, moaning, and his eyes fluttered. Yeah, Stevie was gonna be a screamer.

“You want to take it, baby? Take my cock?”

“Please,” Steve gasped, “Please, Bucky. Give it to me.”

“On your hands and knees? Or on your back?”

“Hands and knees,” Steve said, swallowing thickly, “but… facing the mirror. I wanna see you…”

Bucky’s eyes lit up, his slick fingers trailing up Steve’s chest to brush his nipple.

“You wanna watch me fuck you, doll?” Bucky asked, pinching the hard nub.

Crying out, Steve arched off the bed, his hands tightening on Bucky’s waist. His eyes squeezed shut, but then he fell back to the bed with merely a whimper. Taking whatever Bucky decided to give. In reward, Bucky rolled Steve nipples between his fingers, and got a low moan from Steve’s lips as proof at how sensitive the he was.

“Yes, I wanna…watch.”

“Okay, you can watch. You can have whatever you want, baby, but you gotta ask.”

Steve licked his lips, his grip loosening on Bucky’s waist.

“I’ll be good,” he promised again.

“I know you will be, Stevie,” Bucky purred. “Now, I’m gonna get up, and you’re gonna undress me, but you’re not to touch my cock, understand?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, eyes dilating with lust at the command. “I understand.”

Jesus, it really was too much. Bucky’s cock throbbed, wanting to be buried inside Steve already. There was no chance he would last long this first time. That’s why there would be a next time, though. Steve was too perfect to ever give up.

Sliding off the bed, Bucky stopped a few feet away and watched as Steve sat up. His cock bobbed before him, hard and red and slick. Bucky licked his lips, but watched silently as Steve walked to him and sank gracefully to his knees. Once again, Steve’s breath caught, but he merely brought his hands to Bucky’s fly. Carefully, he pulled it open, then eased the black denim from Bucky’s hips. Hooking his thumbs in the elastic of Bucky’s briefs, he pulled them down as well, leaving both garments pooled about Bucky’s feet, and his cock sprang free to slap against his stomach. He was as hard as Steve, the tip dribbling pre-come.

Letting out a groan, Steve asked, staring at Bucky’s cock, “Can I taste?”

Bucky smiled, kicking aside his clothes, and reached out to run his hand through Steve’s cropped hair.

“Go ahead, baby, but just lick. Not gonna take much to punch my ticket tonight, and I want to be inside you.”

“I want that too,” Steve assured, before leaning forward and licking Bucky from root to tip. He held Bucky’s gaze the entire while, swirling his tongue over the tip to gather as much fluid as possible. Then he swallowed, moaning softly. Tasting Bucky, just like he’d asked, and no more.

“God,” Bucky breathed, “You’re fucking perfect, baby. You done this before?”

“Dom/sub stuff?” Steve asked. “A little, but not much. Mostly just, you know, porn online.”

Reaching down, Bucky brushed his finger over Steve’s lips.

“You like it?”

Biting his lip, Steve nodded.

“Not, like, pain, or anything, but I like… I like being told what to do. I like…pleasing.”

“Oh,” Bucky purred, “You’re plenty pleasing. You don’t like anything I do, you tell me to stop, okay? Doesn’t have to mean we don’t do it again, but we’re gonna stop and talk about it. So, even if you’re just a little uncomfortable, all right?”

Steve nodded, so Bucky smiled and pushed his thumb past his pink lips. There was no resistance, Steve taking his finger into his mouth as his eyes fluttered closed. He sucked lightly as Bucky pressed his thumb against Steve’s tongue. Once again, Steve’s breathing sped up, harsh and fast with desire.

“Climb on the bed, babydoll,” Bucky rumbled huskily. “Face how you want, on your hands and knees, legs spread. Wide, baby. Wanna see what you’re giving me.”

Without a word, Steve climbed up on eager legs and practically ran to the bed. Settling into the middle, he faced the foot of the bed, where a mirror sat over the dresser. When Bucky climbed up behind him, Steve would have a perfect view of everything he did. Bucky did not think about how many other men Steve had watched the same way.

“Wider, Stevie,” Bucky ordered, though Steve’s legs were spread plenty wide already. “Where’s the lube, babe?”

“L-left side table,” Steve stuttered, somehow spreading his legs even wider.

Bucky found it easily, then knelt on the bed and made his way behind Steve. Instead of touching him immediately, Bucky let himself look. Steve’s ass was as gorgeous as Darren had said, firm and round. His legs stretched out to either side, corded muscles straining with tension as Steve waited for Bucky to touch, lick, whatever it was he was going to do.

Slowly, Bucky set the lube on the sheets, took a handful of each cheek, and spread Steve’s ass apart.

“Mm,” Bucky hummed, “look at you, all spread out for me. Bet you can’t wait to have me inside you, can you, Stevie?”

“God, no,” Steve moaned, “Please, Buck, give it to me. Fuck me.”

Bucky chuckled.

“Patience, babydoll.”

Leaving his metal hand in place, kneading Steve’s firm ass cheek, Bucky picked up the lube with his right. Popping the cap, he dribbled a healthy amount over Steve’s lower back, watching as goosebumps broke out over the golden skin at the chill. He smeared his flesh fingers in the mess, then carefully circled his index finger over Steve’s hole, rubbing the slick over the puckered rim.

“This is mine now, Stevie,” Bucky said darkly. “You hear me? No one else gets this but me. No one gets your lips but me. You’re all mine now.”

“Yes,” Steve sobbed, “Yours, Bucky. Make me yours.”

“Shh, baby,” Bucky soothed, pressing his finger just a little harder, so the tip slipped past Steve’s rim. “Gonna do just that. You just hold still, now, and enjoy the view.”

Bucky didn’t waste any more time. Thankfully, Steve wasn’t virginal tight, and his fingers worked in easily from one, to two, then to three. Finding his prostate was easy, since Steve directed him as soon as Bucky started fingering him in earnest. The first brush against the nerve bundle proved Bucky’s prediction of Steve being a screamer correct. He shouted, arms trembling, and pushed back onto Bucky’s fingers. Bucky had soon left Steve a writhing, whimpering, moaning mess as he stretched his hole open.

At three fingers, Steve started to beg. Nothing coherent, but a steady stream of babbling pleas for Bucky to take him, fuck him, use him, hard and fast and deep. It left Bucky’s mouth dry, his cock throbbing with the need to be inside the tight, clutching hold that squeezed his fingers.

When he pulled his fingers free, Steve trembled until Bucky pressed his tip against Steve’s stretched entrance. Then he moaned, pressing back so Bucky had to grip his hips to stop him from breaching himself.

“Eager, aren’t we,” Bucky teased and Steve shuddered. “You can have it baby, but you’re gonna go slow. Push back, but don’t you dare come without asking me first, understood?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve whimpered.

Slowly, Bucky released his grip on Steve’s hips.

“Okay, babydoll, put it in you and I’ll give you what you want.”

Steve whimpered, but he pushed back. The tip of Bucky’s cock strained against Steve’s hole, but his baby did as he was told and kept it slow. Steady, easy pressure, pushing back until it was too much. Steve’s body gave, opening for Bucky. A cry tore from Steve’s throat, his head bowing as he clutched at the sheets.

Rubbing soothing circles over Steve’s lower back, Bucky decided to go easy on him this time. Shifting his hips, he slowly pushed inside, and Steve cried out again, arms still shaking. Reaching up, Bucky caught Steve’s short hair and yanked his head up.

“Look at me,” Bucky commanded. “You wanted to watch me,” he said, meeting Steve’s gaze in the mirror, as he sank ever-so-slowly inside Steve’s tight hole, “so you’re gonna watch. Don’t look away, Stevie.”

“I won’t,” Steve promised breathlessly, “Oh, god, Buck. You feel so good.”

Bucky’s balls nestled against Steve’s ass, and he sighed, rotating his hips. The brush of his cock, so deep inside Steve’s body, made him cry out yet again. Steve’s body clenched down around Bucky’s cock, and he groaned now, easing out just as slow as he’d sunk in. It drove Steve wild, and he struggled, trying to thrust back again.

Growling, Bucky gripped Steve’s hips with his metal hand, the flesh one still tangled in his hair.

“You hold still, Stevie,” Bucky ordered. “You take what I give you.”

“Oh, please,” Steve gasped. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

Bucky chuckled, easing himself back into Steve’s tight hole. Though he squirmed, Steve held still, as commanded. He moaned and writhed, then shouted as Bucky pulled out and snapped his hips forward again. The second time, he shouted Bucky’s name, his blue eyes burning Bucky’s skin as he watched them in the mirror. Bucky kept it slow, pulling out so Steve felt every inch scrape along inside. Then he thrust in hard and fast, bottoming out deep within Steve’s body so that he shouted with pleasure. Bucky did it over and over, until Stevie was a mess, barely able to keep himself up on his arms.

Only then did Bucky take pity on him, speeding up his thrusts, making them hard, fast and deep. The sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the small bedroom, but Bucky was captivated by the sight of Steve in the mirror. He was flushed, mouth open as he shouted, cried out, and gasped for breath. His chest heaved, pecs straining, arms trembling with strain. Between his legs, his cock hung heavy and dripping, swinging with each thrust of Bucky’s cock into his welcoming body. Every time his gaze dropped down to take in the beautifully sinful body, Bucky looked back up to find Steve’s eyes on his face. Watching him as he took everything Steve had to offer.

“Gonna come for me, baby?” Bucky asked, husky and breathless from exertion. Sweat beaded on their skin, glittering in the light from the overhead bulb. “Gonna come on my cock? You take it so good, baby. Like a real doll. Never seen anything like you right now, Stevie. So pretty, so fucking sexy, and knowin’ you look like that ‘cause I’m inside you? God, baby, what you do to me. Want to make you come, Stevie. You make me feel so good, I want you to feel good. You gonna come?”

“Please,” Steve whimpered. “C-can I? Feels so good, Buck. So good in me, _ohh_.”

“Yeah, doll, you can come. Come for me, baby.”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky fucked into Steve even faster. Shouting, Steve’s arms finally gave way and Bucky let him fall into the mattress. He gripped both Steve’s hips now, and pounded into his ass. Over and over, Steve shouted his name, a litany, a chant, timed to Bucky’s thrusts. It cut off abruptly, Steve’s muscles standing out in stark relief, every tendon straining against his skin. Then he shouted, shuddering, and shook in Bucky’s hands as he came, spurting onto the sheets.

Not having to hold back any longer, Bucky slammed into Steve again, then again, and came with a shout of his own. Thrusting deep into Steve, he marked him with his come, throbbing, as pleasure washed over and through him.

Gasping now as well, Bucky held still as he came back to himself. He shivered with cold from the sweat beading on his skin, his hands idly running over Steve’s back and sides. They heaved as Steve tried to draw enough oxygen into his lungs, his muscles still trembling, but limp and pliant. It took little effort, when Bucky was back to himself, to roll Steve onto his side. Though they were upside down, he quickly rolled them in the blankets, gathering Steve in his arms and pulling him to his chest.

They were silent now, nothing but the sound of their breathing in the room as they lay quiet and still. Bucky’s metal hand ghosted along Steve’s spine, his flesh hand combing through his hair. Steve’s hands clutched at Bucky’s shoulders, holding tight as if he might disappear if Steve let go. It would have been funny, except it wasn’t at all.

“I hardly know you,” Steve muttered, breaking the silence sometime later.

“What don’t you know?” Bucky asked, not pausing his gentle petting for a moment.

“What do you do? When you’re not here?”

Bucky laughed softly, pulling Steve closer to his chest and tucking his head beneath Bucky’s chin.

“I have a mechanic’s shop. When I’m not here, I’m there, or at home in Brooklyn. You want me to take you tomorrow? We can make a day of it, see the neighborhood. You can tell me what it used to be like.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, voice small. As if he’d thought Bucky would never tell him where he went, or want to take him home. Idiot.

“Yeah, babydoll,” Bucky assured. “Anything you want, you just gotta ask. You’re mine now, which means I’m yours.”

Steve’s breath against his collarbone made goosebumps rise over Bucky’s skin.

“‘Til the end of the line,” he whispered.

Smiling, Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s hair.

“It was the only way I knew to tell you I loved you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” Steve murmured.

Bucky smiled, arms tightening again around the ghost of his past that he had finally caught.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr ](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com/)


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